


Don't You Know

by SilverSpoon6609



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSpoon6609/pseuds/SilverSpoon6609
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working overnights isn't for everyone. It's not even really for the people who do it. Your life slips away, feels upside down and off kilter. Daryl doesn't mind, his life's always been like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The work itself isn't bad. It's not really hard or demanding. It's monotonous but he doesn't really mind. He shows up when the store is quiet. An odd customer here and there, nurses who work all hours, druggies who don't know the hour, but it's slow. He's gone in few times during the day, mornings when he couldn't sleep or on Thursdays to get his check, and the place is a madhouse. He's in and out, head down.  
Daryl always goes in the side door. He will never say it's because he likes to walk past the floral department, but it's late fall, just before Thanksgiving, and that whole side of the store smells like cinnamon. It also doesn't hurt that there is no one working over there past ten. He doesn't have to exchange hello's or even nod at anyone until he's rolling out U-boats of crackers or soup or baby formula for whatever aisle he's working.  
Some nights he hears the registers, still beeping and pinging away past midnight.  
Some of the guys on the night crew wear headphones, ignore everything around them. Daryl was never good at that, he could never help catching every detail around him. He always had his eyes open, ears sharp. Observant.  
The kid with the neck tattoo, he's got some crappy punk band blaring away around his neck while he barks out directions.  
Daryl likes the guy who does the floors. He hums to himself, goes through the store on the same path every night. That guy just nods and keeps going.  
They break around three in the morning. It's just enough time for a cigarette, maybe a coffee if he feels like spending the money.  
He goes outside, pulling up the collar of his flannel against the wind before he finds a spot against the wall. The bread truck is pulling out of the lot, guy drives like an asshole, and after it drives past he sees her.  
Daryl doesn't mean to stare.  
She's wearing the ugly yellow polo shirt that all the cashiers wear. Her hair is pulled back and messy. The coffee in her hands is obscenely big and she's staring at the sky. The way she moves, it's little steps and a slight bend of her knee. She almost twirls and when she turns he catches it, a brilliant smile followed by an excited gasp. His eyes flick up to the sky just in time to see the tail end of a shooting star.  
"Did you see it?"  
He takes a drag of his cigarette and nods. "Yeah."  
She's smiling at him.  
He stares at his boot, toe twisting out the cigarette butt. She right in front of him when he looks up.  
"We're connected now you know."  
"What're you talkin' about?"  
"The star. We both saw it, I mean I know they happen all the time, but people…I don't think I've ever seen the same one as someone else before."  
"It ain't a big deal."  
"It is to me."  
Daryl shakes his head. "Don't mean nothing Beth."  
She cocks her head, smiling at him. "How'd you know?"  
He starts walking back in, the automatic door welcoming him. "Name tag's on your shirt."

He's never had a job with insurance before.  
Daryl goes to the dentist on Tuesday.  
He's been before, can't remember exactly when but that feeling of nervous discomfort is familiar.  
It's not that bad, surprisingly. At least that's what the hygienist says as he spits out red tinted water into that little sink. Daryl thinks about her smile as he watches his blood swirl down the drain. She probably does this. She's one of those people, the ones who have gone every six months like they say you should.  
He has to get a tooth pulled. One in the back.  
He makes another appointment when he leaves and suddenly he's one of those people that's gonna get their teeth cleaned every six months.

Days off are strange. His schedule is skewed, hours sliding around so the alarm clock coincides with the time clock. He steps out of the office as they're getting ready to close and spends more time than he'd like to admit trying to decide where to go. His tongue feels too big for his mouth as it glides over his clean teeth.  
There's a bookstore across the street.  
It's one of those places with coffee and comfortable chairs.  
He touches the new glasses in his pocket, he brought them for the paperwork, but it's been awhile since he's read anything without having to fight off a headache.  
The place is small and when he sits down he just thinks about staying there until they kick him out.  
It's quiet and he reads.  
Wonders about the things his brother carries around now that he's back. Maybe it's harder now, missing a hand.  
Daryl has to put the book down.  
He doesn't want to think about what his dad carries.  
He's glad he was never one for camo, he's dragging enough shit around without having had a helmet on his head and a flag weighing him down.  
He thinks of her when he's laying in bed. The pinkish grey of dawn is the backdrop for her smile as he closes his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a week before he sees her again.

It took him that long to figure out that she only worked nights on the day the sales changed. She's up front while the regular night cashier methodically replaces tags on all the mundane shit people buy. This week it's cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie filling. There are still a decent amount of people grabbing their last minute turkeys that will barely thaw in the sink overnight.

Daryl knew she would be here.

He saw her name on the schedule.

He doesn't look at her, his ears burn red when he thinks about Martinez, the grocery manager, calling him out for looking at the wrong schedule. Daryl knows that if he looks at her she will see. His face won't hide the way he fumbled through the pages and found out her name isn't Bethany or Elizabeth. It won't conceal the fact that he knows she'll be off the day after Thanksgiving or that her shifts have suddenly switched to the evening.

The back room is a mess.

Bins of cardboard and garbage piled up in front of the compacters, carts full of damages and returns.

The night goes by quickly and god does he want that three o'clock cigarette as his mind drifts to meeting his brother to spend a few hours in the woods when he gets out.

He's listening to Merle's drunken voicemail about where to meet when she walks up to him outside. There isn't any wind tonight. 

She just watches him for a minute, deciding if he's talking to someone.

"Just a voicemail." He flips the phone closed and slides it into his pocket before taking the coffee from her outstretched hand.

"I didn't know how you take it." Beth digs into her pocket and pulls out some creamers and packets of sugar.

He takes two small white packets and tears them open with his teeth. He doesn't see the laugh in her eyes.

"Don't you dare spit those on the ground."

Her fingertips graze his lips when she plucks the scraps of paper from his mouth. She just reaches out to him like it's nothing, there's no analyzing every millisecond of contact when she steadies his hand and takes the top off his coffee so he can add his sugar. Daryl is frozen watching her pull out a plastic bag of stirrers from her coat pocket, his skin still buzzing where she touched him.

"Got the whole shop in there?" He pretends. He can do that, be cool. 

"Pretty much." She smiles. No, she doesn't just smile. She smiles at him. "So, any plans for Thanksgiving?"

She doesn't sip her coffee. She gulps it down out of one of those big thermal cups while her eyes stay on him.

Daryl shrugs, "Going hunting with my brother. Sleeping."

"I'll bring you leftovers." She tips the last of her coffee into her mouth. "Gotta get back."

"I got my own food. Thanks for the coffee though."

She smiles again, just for him. "I know that you have food, Daryl."

He doesn't wear a name tag.

He doesn't have to actually ask, just cocks his head.

"I looked at your schedule."

He shakes his head, kicking himself for being nervous.

The fluorescent light washes her out, makes her look pale and tired, but she waves to him before she disappears out of sight.

Merle blows him off. Just like every year since he's been back.

Daryl hunts alone, convinces himself that he's content in the quiet of the woods, leaves empty handed, and then goes home to cold pizza and a football game he doesn't give a shit about. He doesn't even remember which team he picked in the pool. He cracks open a beer and falls asleep on the couch thinking about family dinners that he never had.

"Yo, Dixon!"

He just nods his head to acknowledge he's paying attention.

"Boss says you better get your shit out of the fridge."

Sure enough there's a tupperware container with his name on it, and a little note.

'Turkey Soup. Hope you like it.' He huffs out a breath at the rudimentary turkey drawn beneath the words.

The soup's damn good.


	3. Chapter 3

The prepaid phone in his pocket has been going off his whole shift.

When he's high, Merle likes to send stupid pictures to Daryl.

None of the jokes make him laugh.

They finally stop around four and Daryl can picture his brother passed out in some random chick’s bed.

It's become a regular thing, taking their breaks together every time she works the overnight, but now the sun is coming up. The pinkish grey of the sky has seemingly shifted the axis of the earth, he's off the clock and he doesn't know how to talk to her in the daylight. Beth is standing outside by the bottle return, her phone is in her hand and she looks ready to sleep right where she stands.

She gives him a small grin. "I think my sister forgot me."

He thinks about Thanksgiving. "I know the feelin'."

The words come out sounding heavy, heavy enough for her to turn away for a moment.

"I don't wanna call and wake the whole house up this early."

Daryl looks around the mostly empty parking lot, sunbeams are just starting to burn off the fog. "I could give ya a ride. Don't got anywhere to be."

She follows a few steps behind him and blushes when he opens the passenger door.

His truck is neat. Just one empty coffee cup in the console, glasses case on the front seat. He tries not to watch her climb in, tries not to think about her being holed up next to him in the small cab as the engines turns over. 

"Where…"

"We could get breakfast, I mean if you want. My treat." Her voice changes when she turns to look out the window.

He snorts out breath and lets his eyes scan her face while he waits for the light to change. "You're always trying to feed me."

He meets her eyes with the edges of his.

"Everyone needs to be taken care of. Even you Daryl." She holds his gaze for second. "Besides, I've been trying to get you to ask me out for the past two weeks."

He doesn't say anything to that. He can't. His mouth has frozen shut and his brain is ticking off a list reasons why this isn't happening. All the shit happening with his brother, the dose of Narcan he carries around just in case. The crappy apartment and life that he's just barely holding together. He glances down at the fraying sleeve of his flannel jacket, eyes stuck on the ugly pattern, the straggling strings pulling away from the worn fabric. 

 

"Let's go to West Gate. The diner on Main?"

"A'right." He swallows down the lump in his throat, "You ain't paying for me though." 

She looks a little disappointed and he can hardly stand to think why. He can’t stand to let her stay that way either.

“Can’t have you be the one payin’. ’Specially if it’s a date” He shakes his head as the last part tumbles, mumbled, out of his mouth.

Her smile makes his face burn.


	4. Chapter 4

The bell chimes when he holds the door open for her.

He watches the perfect curve of her ass as she passes by him.

Her voice is clear when she orders her food and she smiles at him over the sticky plastic menu.

He grins back, tries like hell to banish the doubt screaming into his ear.

She should have guy who's just starting out, who wants the same things as she does, or a man who can take care of her. Daryl knows he's not either one of those. He's some stunted person trapped in the gray area in between. Some how all of this comes to him as they're sitting together in this nondescript diner over a plate of scrambled eggs.

She's talking to him and he knows he should be listening, he's trying to, but he's struggling. The lights make her face look tired and he can picture the dark bags under his eyes, he knows she can see the gray peeking out on his unshaven face. These things are harder to spot in the muted light of a parking lot after dark. Daryl pushes the food around the plate and looks around the room.

"How old are you anyway?"

She's caught off guard and he realizes he interrupted her.

Beth raises an eyebrow as he presses his lips into a thin line.

He shakes his head, "Sorry, I just…"

"I'm twenty."

He snorts out a breath.

"It's not a big deal, Daryl." She watches him, takes in his hunched shoulders and bowed head.

His phone goes off, ringing shrilly in his pocket.

"'S my brother, he's never up this early."

Beth sips at her coffee and listens to the one sided conversation.

"Nah, I ain't home."

"I dunno, Merle. They're your damn keys."

"The diner on Main."

"I got money, you don't gotta buy me breakfast."

"Yeah, see ya."

"The hell's with everyone trying to feed me?" Daryl shifts to slide his phone back into his jeans. "My brother got locked outta his place, he's coming to get his spare key. Sorry."

"That's okay, I'd like to meet him."

Daryl smirks and shakes his head, "Nah, you really wouldn't. He's an ass."

"Wait till you meet my family."

Her words sink in as he listens to her describe her family. A mom and dad. Sister and brother. 'Wait till you meet my family.' A farm house with horses and a barn. Part time school while she works because it hasn't been the same since her dad's accident. 'Wait till you meet my family.' His head is spinning as she tells him and the blare of a horn outside is a welcome distraction.

"I'll be right back."

Daryl is out the door before she can invite his brother to join them for coffee. She watches from the window. The car is an old olive green Chevelle with rust creeping up the body. Daryl leans into the window, the hem of his shirt creeps up his back and Beth can see lines of discolored skin peeking out before he reflexively pulls it down. She watches him slide a key off his chain and when she changes her focus the driver of the car is grinning at her.

He smirks and raises a prosthetic hand in greeting.

Daryl's eyes flash to her as she waves back. She looks down into her coffee and misses Merle wagging his tongue between his static fingers.

The engine roars back to life and the door jingles as Daryl comes back in.

"Sorry about that."

She shrugs, "He could've come in you know."

"No. He's stoned."

"And driving?"

"That ain't even his car, some chick's probably."

"You don't know who he's dating?"

Daryl barks out a laugh, "Dixon's don't 'date'."

She gets quiet for a minute, "Then what's this, Daryl?"

His stomach lurches, greasy food unsettled in his gut.

"Don't know." He gulps down the rest of his coffee. "Nothin but a mess. I'll bring you home." He doesn't look at her, leaves a twenty and some singles on the table before moving quickly toward the door. He doesn't look at her pass by as he holds it open, his eyes are on his feet.

Beth walks toward the truck and is startled when he rushes past her. Daryl scrapes the key against the passenger side handle before slipping it into the lock and holding the door open. She is quiet in the truck, give's him simple directions to the house. He turns into her driveway and lets the engine idle.

There's not much to look at out the window, a large front yard and sloping fields, he chews on his lips and keeps a tight grip on the steering wheel.

"That didn't go the way I pictured it." She's not looking at him.

"Mmm." It's more of a grunt than an answer.

Beth is quiet, she can see someone moving around inside. "I should go in. Thanks for breakfast."

Daryl keeps his eyes trained on the tree line and listens to her fumble with her bag and seat belt. The door opens and closes again. He bites through the edge of his lip and his teeth click together. She's at his open window watching him.

"Hey," her hand reaches for his on the steering wheel, "you can just be Daryl, you know?"

He ducks his head, chin resting on his chest, jerks his shoulders in a shrug.

Her lips press against the side of his head and she tucks a scrap of paper between his white knuckled fingers. She turns away and he looks at the scrawled phone number in his hand.

He yells out the window before he loses his nerve, "You sure?"

She turns around mid-step, in that way that makes her look like she can float.

"I am. Just waiting on you I guess." She waves and makes her way up the porch steps.


End file.
